Time of Trials
by Invigilata Lux
Summary: Contains some Violence. A Hellsing Continuation following the Anime plot, but with a flair of manga at times. Chapter 3 Edited
1. Introduction:: Time of Trials

Disclaimer:  I in no way, shape, or form own or control the characters used here.  No profit was made from this creation.  

Times of Trial

A Hellsing Fanfiction

Introduction

" . . . unto eternal . . ."  

"*bkoom!*

The shotgun's heavy crack sundered the fluid; almost lackadaisical recitation of the Hellsing battle order, its initial retort followed a second later by the death scream of a ghoul, its chest collapsed by the blessed silver, heavily rifled round.  By now both the gunfire and the motto had become routine to the speaker.  

" . . . Damnation . . ."

            Swinging the now spent 12-gauge like a club another once living creature had its skull caved in, making a sickening, wet *thwip* as it collapsed, as if someone had smashed an over-ripe pumpkin.  The Hellsing Operative dropped the weapon in favor of something slightly less gooey as she finished off her pledge.

"Amen."

            Ceras Victoria pulled two MP 4's from her webbing, one of the overlarge sub-machine guns held in either hand.  She barely felt the recoil as hollow point silver shells cleared what had once been an isolated, closed off portion of the underground line.  

It must have once been a rather nice place to wait on one's daily commute, she reflected, her enchanced sight picking out old, cobweb laced brass fixtures and lichen covered cobblestone floors.  A crumbling newsstand stood to one side of the rusting tracks and the air was stale and mouldy.  It was cold and quite damp thanks to run-off from the streets above seeping through a cracked and crumbling mosaic ceiling, though those feelings barely even registered on the now sole occupant of the station.

            As the last spent round clattered to the floor, bounced off a rail, and rolled to a stop the Hellsing agent sighed disgustedly, holstering both weapons with a relaxed, if not slightly clumsy ease.  Hands free, she spun on her heel and began her ascent surface ward, speaking into the mike mounted on her shoulder.

"Bernadette, situation neutralized.  Send in Laegar and Mckenner to do a sweep."

"Sure thing.  You get the FREEK?"

"Yeah."  She replied, voice betraying her weariness.  "Didn't even try and fight, hid among his ghouls, bloody bastard.  I got him with a couple of rounds from the MP4."

"Great.  I'll see if I can round up some more silver shells for 'em, then.  And for your 12 gauge."  

"No.  It's gone.  Used it to finish one of the ghouls when I ran out of shells."

She could hear the chuckle over the bead and murmured voices as Pip Bernadette, acting field commander of the Royal Knights Hellsing struggled to maintain a sense of composure.

"Again?  But that's the third one this week, Ceras!  You need to be more gent . . ."

"Shut up, Pip.  Get me my Harkonnen or even an M60, and I'll start being nicer to my weapons.  Ceras out."

            She flicked off the headset and continued along the upward grade towards the moonlight above, allowing her shoulders to slump slightly, pulling at her webbing gear to try and work the MP4's into a comfortable position.  If it weren't for the fact that funding was short of late, she would have refused to use what she had come to regard almost as toy guns.  The 9mm shells were hard pressed to stop a normal human; only the shear rate of fire and the fact that they were silver even slowed the undead down.

            'But then,' she thought as she jumped up through the open sewer grate, ' it can't be helped.'  

            She walked past the handful of remaining Hellsing Troopers, failing to notice as they saluted.  Only those who had been away on leave at the time of her Master's battle with Incognito had survived.  As far as she knew only they, her Master, Walter, and of course Lady Integra had lived through that conflict.  In a manner of speaking, of course.  She and her master were already long dead.

            Pip looked up from where he knelt over a map of the underground rail line as she approached and sketched a rough salute to his superior.  "No more calls tonight, pretty lady.  This was the last one."

            Normally, a month before, Ceras would have decked him out for that comment.  Not only was she his superior, she was now de-facto head of the Trash Cleaning division of Hellsing, and for that matter, the rest of Hellsing, too.

            But she was just too tired.  It had been a month since Integra began her stay at the Tower of London and forbade Alucard from acting.  A month since Alucard  charged her with the continuation of Hellsing's mission.  A month since the loss of her Harkonnen.  

'And a month,' she reflected bitterly, 'since every freek and ghoul in this country decided to come out and show themselves'.

            In the back of her mind, she knew why the trash of the underworld had taken this chance to reveal itself.  The rumors amongst the various freeks were that Hellsing was out of operation and that her Master had been banished.  But at a rate of two excursions a night, she hardly had the energy to devote to such exercises of logic.  And Hellsing Hall's store of blood, the precious medical blood, was rapidly dwindling.

            Ceras sighed as she hauled herself into the back of an APC, and let herself slump against the steel bulkhead.  Rapping twice to alert the driver to her presence, she began the long, slow (and if she wasn't extremely careful, painful) process of reloading the dozen odd MP4 clips she had emptied with silver rounds.  

            With only 15 people left on staff, Ceras had been forced to play the role of everything from commander to armorer, her service and weapons training in D-11 having become an invaluable skill.  And with so few combat capable soldiers, Ceras was facing most of the dangers of the night alone.    

            The former police woman gave a sigh, before tossing a half loaded clip aside, and promising herself that she would get back to it later, just as soon as she could get a cool packet of Type A, and a nice day in a dark room.  

'Its been a bad day' she reflected, eyes shut against the jarring of the armored vehicle 'and tomorrow isn't likely to get much better.'

  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
Well, that just about does it. If you liked it, give me a review, please. I plan on doing more, so encouragement is always welcome, as well as constructive criticism. 


	2. Order 1 :: Progression of Confinement

Disclaimer:  I in no way, shape, or form own or control the characters used here.  No profit was made from this creation.  

Edit: 2-19-04 – Changes made to scene with Integra.  Previous method did not convey the emotions I wanted.

Times of Trial

Order 1

_Progression of Confinement_

            The red eyes shifted rapidly behind closed lids, falling still as their owner sighed and tipped back in the chair, bringing his head even closer to the cold stone of the manor hall's basement floor.  The shadows cast by the solitary candle flickered slightly, throwing monsters onto the walls as they adjusted to the real monster's new position, amber lenses glinting in the dull light of the withering flame.  A dozen or more drained packs of medical blood lay carelessly on the ground, dust gathering on their abandoned forms.

            With an idle thought the telepathic link between himself and his protégé was severed and Alucard was once again alone.  While it was not necessarily a feeling he was unused to it was rapidly becoming one he found less and less enjoyment in.  Watching his protégé progress was one of the few entertainments available too him, and judging from her just finished engagement in the subway her skills were developing quite rapidly.

            The No Life King stretched out his other senses, mentally walking beyond the closed, warded doors of his chambers and down the rough hewn corridors, pausing briefly at his protégé's room before reminding himself that she was still on her way back to the hall, and continuing on.  His mind's eye leapt straight up, passing though the floor and arriving silently in the entryway of the manor before emerging out into what he knew to be a cool, crisp night, though he couldn't physically feel it from his guarded position.

            _'Good.  The seal is showing no signs of wear.'_  

A fanged smile appeared on his lips as he surveyed his handiwork; the last task he had been allowed to complete prior to his . . . restraining.

            The glyph was quite massive; occupying a space equal to half a basketball court, a duplicate of the wards on his glove had been _blasted_ into a recently leveled stretch of the Hall's front lawn.  He smiled as he noted other, smaller single character glyphs encircling the larger one; Seras' skill was beginning to become apparent.  This close to the etchings, it was easy to feel the measure of power she was contributing to his work.

            A spotlight swung across the flattened area, reminding him that it wasn't just him keeping Hellsing hall safe.  The glyph's aura made it very unpleasant for any undead to try and breach Hellsing's grounds without his or Victoria's consent, and with her smaller markings, he imagined it would be strong enough to even make it uncomfortable for uninvited humans to hang around.  But even with those defenses, and the glyphs ability to let his mind wander the halls of the area he protected, it wasn't quite enough.

            And so those spotlights had been installed at Ceras' command, one on the roof of each wing with each spotlight having been fortified and sandbagged.  Without even looking he could sense the three humans at each rooftop bunker marked as they were to allow passage in and out of Hellsing grounds.  Another group of three was patrolling the perimeter, and six of them were sleeping in the barracks.  The remaining eight had yet to return from the nights excursions.

            Alucard's minds eye knelt next to the recently disturbed earth, the trapped body wishing he could run a gloved hand along Seras latest in a long list of recent accomplishments.  Even without physically being there, though, he could feel the power they radiated; remarkable, given that he had only been able to give her a cursory lecture on the nature of crafting such wards.  Still he reflected, it was hardly burned into the earth as his was.  He could see shovel marks; he had yet to show her how to utilize the raw energy she possessed.  

            Back behind warded, cast iron doors, a bigger smile crept onto the nosferatu's face.  It would be something he would look forward too.

***

            "Dinner, Sir Hellsing."

            Integra sighed as the mahogany door opened, nudged forward from the frame by a rosewood tea cart upon which a rather extensive collection of silver service rested.  A guardsman in full dress uniform was providing the propulsive force and behind him, further down the carpeted hall another officer was visible.  His face was not however, being hidden in the shadows cast by the imitation gas lamps mounted on the walls.

            "Braised chicken, fresh greens, rolls, and a red wine."

            She rolled her eyes as the soldier lifted the lid on the serving platter with a flourish.  She ate better here than she ever had back at Hellsing hall.  Still . . .

            Integra took the proffered plate and glass, then motioned her hand to dismiss the server.  He bowed deeply and turned for the door, but halted before he was fully through.

            "One thing, your lordship.  Inspector Grumman said he would be calling tonight, sometime after the dinner hour," and with that the door clicked shut.  A second later she heard the thunk of a deadbolt being set and then the padded footfalls of her two impeccably dressed jailers.

            Less than five minutes later, the plate was empty, the glass drained, and with cigarillo in hand Integra was once again ready to continue pacing; from the way the plush red carpet had been worn down and darkened in one spot even the most casual observer would see that the practice was a common one.

            A knock sounded at the door and before Integra could answer, it opened.  The frame was filled by a bear of a man, with shoulders just shy of preventing him from fitting through the entryway.  A lightly tanned leather coat hung loosely and unbelted around him and the whole imposing figure fairly blocked out the light from the hallway, casting long shadows onto his face.  A visage which was, save for a rather flat nose and square jaw line, rather unremarkable, though the man's hair was kept in a tight crew cut that reminded Integra of the Hanging Judge more than she would have liked.

            "Sorry Integra, didn't mean to inte . . . oh, yer finished, I see."  The big man's voice came out in a smooth, strong and deep tone; an accent which the Lady Hellsing had never been able to place, even though she had known him since she took the reigns of the Knights Protestant.           

Bruce Grumman, Inspector Chief of the Knights of the Round Table, was one that few could place or categorize, no matter how long one had known him.  

She smiled.  "You know I eat fast.  Good news?"

He chuckled as he pulled an overstuffed recliner up next to the dinner table and sat down, filling the chair completely.

"Fairly good.  Business first as always, I see, though I know I've told you that before," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and rummaging around before producing a cigar with a grunt of satisfaction.  He held it toward Integra. 

"Do you mind?"

Integra shrugged, and touched the lit tip of her cigarillo to the cigar until it smoldered.

"That's the stuff," he puffed.  "Anyway, to the news, which, since your muscles were clenched when you lit my cigar, you are undoubtedly dying to hear."

She nodded stiffly and he grinned, sucking in a long breath.

"Well then.  Best news is you will be outta here within oh . . . two weeks, maybe two and a half, depending on how fast this investigation clears up."

"That quickly?  Regulation states that I should be here for at least . . ."

"Integra.  How long have we been friends?  Over 15 years I'm thinking . . . you know I have ways around it when time is of importance.  I've got all my men working double overtime to finish up the paperwork and am plying the uncooperative with cases of the finest English brandy."

Bruce paused, waiting for a comment, but when none was forthcoming, continued on.  

"Anyway, that's that.  Full reinstatement of all rights, so you'll be able to continue using that vampire of yours.  Though I would advise ya to keep him kinda low for awhile."

"Excellent.  What is Hellsing's current status?  With Alucard on stand down I imagine that they haven't been responding to any calls.  Has D-11 been successful at keeping the undead at bay?" She leaned over the table, eyes gleaming, and for the first time in a long time, a self satisfied smirk spreading across her face.

 "Feh.  Integra, you know full well that D-11 can't handle vampires.  At least not well.  And by that look I can guess you were hoping to show that to the other knights.  But since you've been kept in an information black out, I guess I can fill in a few blanks."

Integra nodded, sipping at her tea, muscles relaxed for the first time in weeks.  She felt them ache dully as they were suddenly lifted of the stress.

            "Well, there is good news and bad news to this second part, though nothing too terrible.  First of all, the good news.  Hellsing has not been lying excessively low; in fact they've been able to respond to 90% of the calls, which in the past month, has been 14, with one day seeing three separate incidents, one of which was in the daytime.  Success on all responded missions is 100%, with 0% casualties, though several soldiers have been wounded.  Hellsing has 24 active members not including that former D-11 agent of yours.  Who, by the way, is acting as commander in your absence.  She's doing relatively well in my opinion.  Especially since she seems to lead the charge during most of the encounters.  That's the reason none of your men have been lost, by the way.  Captain Burnadette and the others usually only provide perimeter cover or supporting fire.  

Also of note, Hellsing Hall has been attacked on two separate occasions by vampires trying to duplicate the Valentino Brothers' success:  both attacks were halted near instantaneously, though Ms. Victoria will not give me all the details as to how.  Perimeter defenses at the manor have been upgraded, with 6 troopers on guard at all times," Bruce reported, then paused to suck on his cigar.

Integra's face had steadily darkened as Bruce had related these facts, an occurrence the Inspector now took note of.

"Problem, Integra?"

The familiar ache of tensed muscles returned to her body.

"Ceras.  Is giving orders.  To Hellsing."  Her voice was halting and hard as she spoke.

Bruce paused, his hand stopping in mid air, preventing the delivery of more nicotine to his bodily system.  "Umm . . . yes."

"Ceras.  A **vampire**.  Is acting as the head of Hellsing."

"Well, she was the most senior of all the officers, and so far . . ."

"Her success is **not** the issue." she sneered.  

"Hellsing destroys Undead, and most certainly **is not** to be commanded by one!"  she finished, punctuating her final words by returning he cup to the unlucky carafe with some measure of force, her muscles once again taunt and stretched as she rose to stand over the inspector.  

"I will **not allow her to act in my stead,**" Integra stated, her calm voice seeming to replace the heat in the room with pure, unadulterated menace.

Bruce regarded her change in mood with idle curiously.  "Sit down, dear Integra.  Frankly, you don't have much of a choice, as no orders are allowed to reach between you and your organization until you are released from the tower." He sighed casually, expelling a smoke ring but refusing to meet her gaze.  "Besides, you already employ vampires, and if she serves well in that purpose, why not?  And please, don't give me that bullshit about tradition, Integra.  Your father kept Alucard in the basement, that's one hell of a weird family heirloom."

Her voice had gone cold as ice.  "You bastard.  She's running **my** organization."

He laughed and tapped his cigar, dropping ash onto the now empty silver platter.  "No, she's taking care of it in your absence.  De facto leader, she has no formal

title.  Pip is technically in command, he just defers to her a lot of the time."  

Bruce sighed and stood up, taking one last puff before grinding the cigar onto the platter and abandoning it.

"I suggest you relax, Integra.  Those quite rages of yours may scare the hell out of your subordinates, but I doubt they're good for your health.  And please, don't throw the tea cup at me on my way out like last time, that's her majesty's good china."  

He smiled, and strode out of the room, leaving Lord Hellsing to stand locked in a cold, quiet rage.  

"And by the way, the brandy I'm paying those bastard officials with?  It's that stock your grandfather put down way back when, found it in the basement when I was trying to find Ceras . . . hope you don't mind."

In the dimly lit hallway, Inspector Grumman's frame shook with silent laughter as he heard the sound of fine porcelain shattering against the door of the room he had just left.  

 - - - - - - - -

Author's Notes:  Well . . . wow.  It was quite a shock to see reviews for the Intro that said more than _Good Job_ or _You Expletive_.   I am somewhat humbled that people actually felt my scribbles fit into the genre of Hellsing and even suggested that I had seemingly passed the first part of some sort of acid based test, though I am curious as to where one can obtain digital litmus strips.  These expectations should, I suppose, make it interesting when I work with Alucard or Integra; the series always maintained the characters as rather static (with Ceras' development being the exception to the rule, though even that went at a geological pace).  This is something I will be endeavoring to alter.  Slow, gradual and logically backed adjustment to character perspectives while maintaining the dark quality that made Hellsing _Hellsing_ should prove a challenge both fun and difficult.  Additionally, I wish to try and implement at least a little of the humor present in the manga, as I personally do not find a bleak, black picture of the world to be that entertaining or enjoyable.  Anyway to these ends I welcome people's opinions as to whether they think any changes to personality come too fast (though not necessarily whether the character should have changed in the first place ^_^).  And if you find a grammar error, feel free to point it out in an e-mail or review as any assistance is greatly appreciated.  Work will also progress according to the ingenious 'whenever I feel like it' writing process, which means slow.   Anyway, sorry if this chapter seemed slow;  next chapter you can expect a little more Integra, the intro of a villain, and of course Seras and Alucard, and a significant amount of gunplay/swordplay/generic death dealing weapon play.  Thanks for your continued support, hopefully.


	3. Order 2 :: Abjuration

Disclaimer:  I in no way, shape, or form own or control the characters used here.  No profit was made from this creation.  

Times of Trial

Order 2

Abjuration

Some might wonder if monsters have nightmares.  Do the creatures that inhabit the visions of humans, of mortals, ever feel the abject terror that only dreams can instill?  Have they ever tasted death in the soft embrace of sleep?

            Ceras Victoria discovered the answer to that as she woke up, sweat soaked sheets clinging to her form, the white linen nearly transparent, revealing the dark blue night clothes she wore beneath.

            Her enhanced senses took in her surroundings in the first instant.  A cramped, confined space, the smell of her own perspiration clinging to her, the air feeling stale and cramped.  The darkness was as plain as day to her red eyes, but she was choking, suffocating . . .

            With a gasp, she slammed her fist through the lid of the tomb, splintering a half inch of, deep brown mahogany.  First the right fist, then the left, before she had clawed her way to the top, wrestling and throwing off the smothering sheets, drawing breath after breath of the cool basement air.

            Her right hand went to her chest, feeling just above her heart.  Though the skin was smooth, long since healed, her dream reminded her of what had happened.  Of what had scared her so.

            _'A dream, only a dream.__  Vicks is alive.  They're all still alive.'_ She mouthed to herself, silently willing her mind and body to still to relax.

            "Yes," she murmured, "all still alive.  The bullet . . . its on the table, isn't it?"

            Scrambling out of her impromptu exit, she jumped to the center table of her room, feet barely registering the ice cold floor as she grasped at the object, the remains of a .351 round.

            There wasn't much left of it, just a twisted hunk of misshapen metal, but its cold, solid feeling was enough to remind her that it was only a dream, that it had worked.  That she had taken that bullet, that she had been fast enough.  That the freek at that rural tavern hadn't managed to kill one of hers.  Trooper Vicks was still alive.  At the time she had leapt into the way of the round without thinking.  It had ripped a huge chunk out of her, the sheer size of the round making a mess of the left side of her chest,  The wound only finished regenerating just prior to the train station conflict the day before, though the fight in question had been over a week ago.

           She sighed as she placed the metal slug back down on the table, worries averted, and slowly turned back to her bed, surveying its splintered remains.

            "Damn."  She said, to no one in particular, eyes wide at the damage only two of her punches had caused.  "That's going to come out of my pay . . ."

***

            "Sgt.  Victoria, Sir!  We were told to expect you . . ."  

            The man snapped to attention as she arrived, stepping lightly out of the converted APV.  She shivered slightly, though the damp night barely registered.  It unnerved her slightly to be treated as an officer, much less to be treated as an officer by a D-11 agent. Still, she mused, he seemed to be the one in charge of this situation.  A half dozen other police officers milled about uncomfortably, obviously ill at ease.  

            "Ahh . . . at ease."  She waved her hand, staring at what had been only hours, or possibly days earlier (Information was sketchy, to say the least), a productive factory of the British economic machine.  "Where is the problem, and who is in charge?"  

            "Captain Peraski has gone to confront a number of apparently . . . ummm . . ."  The young man stammered, obviously nervous.

            "Believe dead is the word your looking for, son.  Undead in particular."  Pip grinned as he sauntered out of the transport, followed by several other Hellsing troopers.

            "Continue, officer . . ." Ceras glanced at the young man's name badge, " Jacobs.  Since your Captain is gone, I assume you are the highest ranking operative here?"  
            "Sir, yes Sir!"  he replied, then wavered slightly as he continued, "Umm . . . 30 minutes ago, Sgt.  We have had no word since then.  At the time, he reported entering and engaging multiple threats.  His words didn't make much sense, he said they looked like zombies, but the communications were heavily garbled.  It seems that the broadcast towers interfere with normal channels." Jacobs answered, pointing blue fingerless glove up at the two massive interlocking steel towers that served as a transformer station for this section of the industrial district.  The electrical buzz produced by them was audible even to those without enhanced hearing and to those with it was decidedly unpleasant.  Victoria did her best to block it out.

            "I see."   Ceras nodded, trying to look sage.  It was, she reflected, no easier to do the 12th time than the first time.  

            '_I wish Integra was here . . .dammit'._ she thought, '_this whole days going straight to hell.  First the dream, now this . .  I hate taking lead.  I don't want to be responsible for others.' _

 "Order all D-11 Troops to withdraw and form a perimeter.   Do not engage unless provoked.  This incident is within Hellsing's jurisdiction." Ceras continued.

            "SIR!  But . . . umm . . . what is going to happen now?" Jacobs asked, voice shaking slightly.

            "Now you'll talk to me if you have any more questions.  Sgt. Victoria and one of my squads are going to go and remove the threat, and see if your companions are still alive."  Pip answered before Ceras could respond, weaseling his way in between the inquisitive D-11 Agent and the Vampiress.  He didn't need things to get any more complicated than they already were.

            "Ceras, no time to waste talking to these guys, D-11 or not."  He continued.

            "Shut up, Pip.  Alpha and Delta, spread out and cover the building, engage if necessary.  Bravo, you're with me."  Ceras issued the insult and the order in one fluid motion as she checked the load on her USAS-12.  Satisfied that the shotgun was fully armed and the drum magazine was ready and able to cycle, she allowed herself moment of reflection.

            Last time she had fought with D-11, she had been a rookie, a greenhorn, and ended up dead.  This time, she was the one playing calvary.  And, judging by the small, quiet small on her face, it was a role she was entirely happy with.

            "In the Name of God, Impure Souls of the Living Dead shall be Banished unto Eternal Damnation."  She called out.

            The reply came also before she was done, a simultaneous echo of "Amen"s, followed shortly after by booted feet treading hard packed earth as the men and women of Hellsing did what they did best.

***

            "Laegar!  Right side, Left side is Kent.  Vicks, Kudsman, rear guard.  Catch them in the crossfire."

            "Gotcha, Sgt." They replied, moving into position inside what must have once been a dinning hall for the various factory workers.  It now much more resembled a butcher shop, with half eaten . . . _things _. . . tossed this way and that, and a huge inverted cross painted on the wall.  Even the tables, collapsible laminated plywood and tubular metal jobs, had the damn sigil painted on.

            '_Like the Bonny and __Clyde__ incident . . .'_ Ceras thought, as she stepped forward towards a set of double doors.  '_This whole thing is just like the Bonny and __Clyde__ incident . . .'_

            The level of violence that they had seen had been nothing short of incredible.  Already, Ceras and her team had ended the second lives of over 2 dozen factory workers, one of which, judging by the clipboard he attacked her with, must have been the factory manager.  But the bodies were already bullet riddled and broken, and from the way the wounds looked and the way the blood had dried on their clothes, she would say the wounds came before they had originally died.  And everywhere, the inverted cross was present.

            Forcing the thoughts to the back of her mind Ceras closed the gap between herself and the double doors.  A single mighty kick knocked both of them off their hinges and propelled them back into the four undead D-11 agents, knocking them onto their backs.  One didn't get back up, its head crushed.

            "Fire for effect!"  Laegar yelled out, and the confines echoed with the sound of 9 and 5.56 mm death as the remaining three former troopers were cut down in a blaze of gunfire from multiple angles.

            "Damn.  Looks like the freeks got the agents."  Ceras muttered, stalking forward into the next room, her team following behind her, crossing back in forth to give overlapping fields of cover fire, should it be needed.

            "Not all of them.  Just most.  This one I was saving for a later snack." 

            She followed the voice, red eyes coming to rest on an apparently nattily dressed man reclining on what must have once been an executive chair, legs propped on the hunched over form of a sniffling, bound and gagged D-11 officer.

            "I'm impressed.  You've managed to defeat my . . . associates.  The D-11 Agents didn't even get halfway through the second room. I guess this means I'll just have to get my own hands dirty . . . a pity.  I did like this suit."  His voice was calm and affected a unbearably upper class accent.  As he rose, he kicked out with a leather loafer knocking the incarcerated agent aside with a casual motion.

            "You have no idea who you're dealing with."  Trooper Vicks spoke up, voice muffled slightly by the face mask and armor.

            "Just another pathetic human folly, I'm sure."  He straightened his pristine white gloves in most insufferable motion, moving into the florescent lighting.  Close cropped black hair, with a face so white it was almost blue under the artificial suns.  A black business suit with a slate grey tie was worn neatly, clipped to the jacket with a silver pin.  The emblem on it was an inverted cross.

            "Human folly?    We aren't follies, human or otherwise."  Kudsman countered, keeping his eyes trained on the freek.

            "I hardly think it proper for me to converse with future pets on such a level.  These trifles are far beneath me. So now, why don't you all be good little doggies, and die?"

             Fluid motions followed the word, his hand darting inside his jacket and retrieving a chromed Glock 19, the smaller variant pointing directly at Bravo Teams point woman.

            Passing him in speed Ceras swung the Korean made shotgun to bear.  Recovered and donated to the Knights Protestant from the freek manufacturing plants in Hong Kong, she had at first been reluctant to use it.  It was fast becoming one of her favored toys after its marvelous performance that night.  She squeezed the trigger split seconds before the freek could do the same.

            And suddenly, there was no gloved hand, no glock.  And for that matter, no right arm, at least not below the elbow on the would be vampire.          An attitude change accompanied the physical alterations, too.

            "You FREAKING BITCH!  I'LL KILL YOU!"  the accent lost, his pristine outfit now splattered in blood, the creature curled his remaining hand into a predator's claw and leapt forward, bounding a good 15 feet in a single leap.

            Bravo team opened fire, but his movements were too quick to track.  Rounds pock marked the blooded walls, and clipped the fluorescent lighting, shattering tubes and bathing the room in dim flickers of light.

            Ceras calmly sidestepped the attack, stretching out her left arm to clothesline the freek.  He flipped onto his back, and would have slid on the cold tile floor had she not immediately slammed a booted foot down onto his chest cavity, giving her a rather satisfying crunching noise.

            Ceras swung the muzzle of her assault shotgun to bear on the freeks head.

            He struggled to push her off, clawing and scrapping at the leg that pinned him down, unable to move it despite his enhanced strength.

            "What . . . how . . .I'm stronger than any human!  They said I'd be the elite!  The most powerful!"  he looked up at her, fear in his eyes as his motions became jerky and erratic as he tried to break free.

            Fixing him with a crimson glare, Ceras offered her reply, "I'm not human, either.  But unlike you, I'm not a . . . folly."  

A blast from her USAS-12 ended any further discussion on the subject.

            The few remaining florescent bulbs continued to flicker and buzz as Victoria wiped the freeks blood from where it had splattered on her chest.  

            "Situation contained.  Mission completed."        

***

            Ceras sighed as she slowly pushed open the heavy iron door, wincing slightly as the runes engraved upon its surface shocked her, threatening to bind her to this place, just as they did her master.  That wasn't why she had sighed however.  It had been a long, long day, and despite her command performance at the engine factory, she wasn't expecting any compliments.

            '_He had to have felt me freak out last night.'_ She thought, fearing the inevitable lecture, the inevitable pronouncement of 'not good enough'.  

            "Police woman.  Welcome." He pronounced, not stirring from his slouched position in his favored chair.  His mouth hadn't even moved.

            "M . . .Master?"  Ceras stuttered.  She had never been _welcomed_ in before.  It wasn't until the events of Incognito that she had even been allowed in this room.  

            He continued on, his lips unmoving.  "Congratulations on your kill.  It was done well.  I especially liked how you left the stuffed shirt freek wondering what exactly was happening.  Ha, fun to watch."

            Alucard turned his head to face her, her head framed in the doorway. 

           _'Hmm.__  Backlighting highlights her quite nicely.'  _He though, brushing the unbidden mental process from his mind.

            "I want to congratulate you, policewoman.  You've been doing quite well since Integra was taken.  Flowering under pressure, hmm?"           

            Ceras stepped forward into the room, not quite sure what to make of his unusually talkative nature. 

_'Run with it while I can,'_ she thought.

"This . . ."  she smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of her head, "has been . . . good for me."

            "Oh, police girl?  How so?"  he replied, grinning toothily.

            "I think you know, master.  You must . . . you must have felt me wake up last night.  Err . . . day."

            "Well I did, but no, I think it would be good for you to enlighten me.  Think of it as a lesson in being a good little midian."  He continued to smile up at her, and kicked out a chair with a languid move of his leg.

            She sighed, and sat down in the indicated chair, and gathered her thoughts, opening one of the two blood packets she had brought down for him and herself.

"I've been forced to face the problems I've been running from since Integra has been gone.  With everyone dead, I just haven't had the luxury being able to worry about being a vampire or about losing my . . . humanity . . ." her voice trailed off, unsure.

            "And?" he prompted.

            "And I've found that it doesn't matter.  The humanity, I mean.  When I saved Trooper Vicks, I did it by taking a .351.  Were I human I'd be dead and the rest of Hellsing with me.  Ceras Victoria saved him, it doesn't matter whether it was a human that did it or a vampire; what really counts is that _the action was done_.  I woke up last night screaming because I thought I had died, and worse, I had let down those that trusted me, that put faith in me.  That shows what I am, not some label created by a long dead philosopher or occult fan boy."  The words tumbled out of her mouth, faster and faster.  She hadn't paused to breath, unprepared as she was.

"Quite a speech, Policewoman.  But what of it?  Does that absolve your taste for blood?"

            Ceras frowned at that, idly fiddling with tube on her now empty blood packet, refusing to meet his gaze. 

            _'I almost liked it better when he didn't question me, if this is what he asks . . .'_ she thought to herself, but continued on anyway.

  "I don't know.  I don't think it does; but I need blood to survive.  I . . . I don't like doing it but . . . I think I can do it without regret.  It's part of me, something I have to accept even if I don't like it.  It is as much a part of me as my desire to protect others ever was, and for that matter, is." She said, hand absently tracing over her left side, feeling for a wound that was no longer there.  

Her voice, Alucard noted, held less and less conviction.

            "You won't always have medical blood, you know."

            Her frown deepened further.  "I know that . . . but I'll face it when the time comes.  With everything going on, with these powers starting to show up at the most inopportune times . . . but when that does happen, I'll be ready to face it."  She paused, dropping the blood packet entirely, gathering her thoughts to her.

 "I know why I'd have to drink.  I don't do it for fun or out of whim, but I won't let myself die because of it.  I'm not going to revel in the process like some stupid freek; it is a process that I'll have to face to continue my existence.  I can't be faulted for that . . . I'm a midian, I . . . I can't be judged by the same standards as a human, can I?"

            He clasped a gloved hand onto her shoulder, and squeezed.  Ceras jumped under his grasp.  As far as she could remember he had never touched her except to pull holy blades from her body or when he had turned her.  It was . . . an interesting feeling, she decided, and one that sent tiny jolts that were not entirely unpleasant throughout her being.

            "You said yourself, Ceras.  You are Ceras Victoria, a No Life Queen; you are a nosferatu, and will become a powerful one at that if you continue to progress as you have this past month."  His grip slowly tightened.

            "But . . ." she began.

            "Judgments are passing and relative, Ceras.  To a true No Life Queen or King, what matters are one's own actions and one's own reasons; do not regret things that can neither be changed nor are necessitated by circumstance.  Our lives are far too long to do so."   As he finished he eased the pressure on her shoulder, slowly sliding off.

            "Thank you, Master." Ceras' voice was a hushed whisper, as she slowly raised her eyes to meet his.  To her surprise instead of amber lenses her gaze was met by pure crimson, the glasses cast to the tabletop.

            "You do . . . well, Ceras.  Return when you can."  He said, his eyes glinting playfully in the candlelight.

            "I wi . . ." her reply was interrupted as her com crackled to life, Pip's voice paging her to the surface with yet another freek hunt.

            "Get going, Ceras.  I look forward to hearing your report."

            She smiled slightly, before turning and walking off, shutting the cold iron door behind her with a clang, the wards on its surface glowing slightly as its presence was touched by a child of the night.

            And as her footprints faded down the hallway, Alucard smiled after her.  They noise stopped just before she would have hit the stairs up.

            The policewoman called back, "Thank you for calling me Ceras, master!"

            _'She will make a great . . . she will be great, yet.'_ He silently pronounced.

Authors Notes::

---

Arg.  Wasn't happy with the intial release . . . this is getting to be a habit.  Re-re-re-reading it, I decided I really didn't like the fight scene.  Well, fleshed that out.  This is getting to be a bad habit.  Thanks for the continued support, and sorry for the delay in getting this out.  Till Next time, Invigilata Lux.  Oh, and thank the powers that be that FMP finally has its own category.  Methinks writing something for it would be a nice change from Hellsing's darker nature.  Hmmm . . .


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